"You must not give the young woman the big head, Obermuller. Her own is big enough, I'll bet, as it is. I ain't prepared to make any startling offer to a little girl that's just barely got her nose above the wall. The slightest shake might knock her off altogether, or she mightn't have strength enough in herself to hold on. But we'll give her a chance. And because of what it may lead to, if she works hard, because of the opportunities we can give her, there ain't so much in it in a money way as you might imagine." Obermuller didn't say anything. His own lips and his own eyes sneered now, and he winked openly at me, which made the little man hot. "Blast it!" he twanged. "I mean it. If you've got any notion through my coming down to your dirty little joint that we've set our hearts on having the girl, just get busy thinking something else. She may be worth something to you--measured up against the dubs you've got; but to us--" "To you, it's not so much your not having her as my having her that--" "Exactly. It ain't our policy to leave any doubtful cards in the enemy's hands. He can have the bad ones. He couldn't get the good ones. And the doubtful ones, like this girl Olden--" "Well, that's just where you're mistaken!" Obermuller thrust his hands deep in his pockets and put out that square chin of his like the fighter he is. "'This girl Olden' is anything but doubtful. She's a big card right now if she could be well handled. And the time isn't so far off when, if you get her, you people will be--" "Just how much is your interest in her worth?" the little man sneered. Obermuller glared at him, and in the pause I murmured demurely: "Only a six-year contract." Mag, you should have seen 'em jump--both of 'em; the little man with vexation, the big one with surprise. A contract! Me?--Nance Olden! Why, Mag, you innocent, of course I hadn't. Managers don't give six-year contracts to girl--burglars who've never set foot on the stage. When the little man was gone, Obermuller cornered me. "What's your game, Olden?" he cried. "You're too deep for me; I throw up my hands. Come; what've you got in that smart little head of yours? Are you holding out for higher stakes? Do you expect him to buy that great six-year contract and divvy the proceeds with me? Because he will--when once they get their eye on you, they'll have you; and to turn up your nose at their offer if in just the way to make them itch for you. But how the deuce did you find it out? And where do you get your nerve from, anyway? A little beggar like you to refuse an offer from the T. T. and sit hatching your schemes on your little old 'steen dollars a week! ... It'll have to be twice 'steen, now, I suppose?" "All right, just as you say," I laughed. "But why aren't you in the Trust, Fred Obermuller?" "Why aren't you in society, Nance?"